11-1-00 W 12:56 PM 

I've had a headache all day. I'm guessing it's from the sugar in the cupcakes and chocolate I ate, or maybe I've contracted encephalitis. It is a cool, sunny, perfectly-November day. I typed fifteen minutes before school this morning. Rode my KLR4000 Free Spirit bike to work. The nippy air intensified my headache. Helped Fanny type the final copy of her Boogie Man story. Corrected our spelling assignment. At recess, I read the sports page. Lakers beat the Blazers again in last night's opening day rematch in Portland. The Dodgers hired Jim Tracy, whoever that is, to be their new manager. We had to do the Title 1 math test after recess. Then we corrected it. I had some solar heated lunch in a box: chicken, rice, and veggies in garlic sauce. Steve Allen died. My neck still hurts. I'll read some more Something Wicked This Way Comes. It occurs to me now this is not a good title with a baby on the way. I liked it for a page, but then all the sappy, homespun similes about eyes like chestnuts and such started getting on my nerves. Nonetheless, I shall endeavor to read it all. Type a third person. What does Jim do after the tow truck drive steals his car. Then I'll read some Cheever. Send that letter to Bernie. Make some dinner. Teach night school. Work on Jim. What else? What else? My shoulders and head and neck and back hurt. My lips are chapped. I hope the baby comes soon but not on the weekend. But if she does come on the weekend, that's fine. 2:37 PM Where is that kid? Is subconscious prenatal anxiety causing the pain in my back and head? Guh--what must it be like to pregnant? Guess I'll eat some bratwurst when I get home. Is the word "for" a preposition? What else? What else? What in the heck else? Joshua Black is here to play "Dragon's Lair" on the computer. The computer is all slow and screwed up. What else? What [color photo of a girl on the steps of a Mayan pyramid] else? One of my students last year left this picture in my class. On the back it says in Spanish: To Ivan, from your sister, I love you, you little dark beauty." What else? What else? What else? What else?

10-31-00 Tu 10:08 AM

It’s Halloween. I’m dressed like a scarecrow. Today is our daughter’s due date, but I don’t think she’s going to come today. I didn’t have time to write fifteen minutes on the computer this morning, so I’m doing here. I

 10-30-00  M 12:37 PM

I have the serious shakes today. I hope there's nothing wrong with me. Maybe I'm just nervous. The pain in my back is severe. I need to trim my fingernails. I still feel mostly oblivious to the pending birth of my first-born child. Most of the feelings I anticipate are strictly selfish: the inconvenience of staying at the hospital twenty-four hours or more, not being able to drink or smoke or write, the intrusion of family and in-laws afterward preventing me from writing. How it affects my writing seems to be my biggest concern. So, I'm an asshole. It's no big secret. Actually, I guess it is a secret. Am I being honest when others equivocate? Cheever or Steinbeck would be much more eloquent in describing the coming of such a momentous day in his life. I have only these petty concerns. God, my neck hurts. It's from sharing the bed with the dog. Unless it's psychosomatic. I had a bagel for breakfast. There was some non-fat, vegetarian "cream cheese" in the fridge. I spread it on, but it was nasty, so I scraped it off and put on butter instead. I rode my bike to school. I got here early thanks to daylight saving time.  I had some time to read the [post card of a red-eyed frog from Costa Rica] news before school, but wouldn't you know it: little moron Louis's mom came asking if I knew why her son is such a dumbass. There went my free time. Natch. The kids came. They journaled, and I organized lessons for the week. At recess, I read the news. The presidential race is coming down to the wire neck and neck. I still don't know who I'll vote for. We did some problem-solving. I cut out an article about sex in space to put in Senoritavilla's box. I haven't had lunch. I guess I can eat that bratwurst when I get home. I need to eat some fruit and vegetables. I feel like my heart's about to seize up like an unoiled engine. We've got spooky stories to do next. I want to try to be a scarecrow tomorrow. I've got to bring a knife to school for the pumpkin. Got to finish the baby book and mail stuff and do a third-person page and set up the basinet and work on Jim and go to work and get birthday cards and read some more Vein of Gold.

 10-28-00 Sa 6:12 PM

I’m at the Bounty. Thing and Mark have gone out for a cigarette. I rode over here on my bike. I got “Lion King” tickets at the Pantages for Rochelle and me on our anniversary. I typed fifteen minutes while Oregon played a spectacular come-from-behind OT game full of goal-line stands and last-second Hail Marys. Bernie called from Chicago. We’ve got two more beers on the way. UCLA’s playing Arizona on a tv up on the corner. Florida State’s up on North Carolina over in the other corner. The juke box is quiet. Thing and Mark talk movies, movies, movies. One of the sopranos and the conductor from the LA Opera are going to perform selections from Mahler’s “Symphony Number Nine.” I thought Rochelle might want to go, but I called her, and she says she’s tired. So, I just asked her to put the chicken in the oven. I’m trying to decide whether to call Senoritavilla to invite her to GIP’s party. I’m sure she won’t go, but I may still invite her, even though it’s getting late. The bar has Halloween decorations—plastic spiders and banners with ghosts on them and paper pumpkins and glowing plastic Jack-o’-lanterns. The fish in here smells good. “I can’t shake this melancholy today,” says Thing. “It’s the fall,” I say. “Who’s the new bartender?” I ask. “That’s Mimi. She works days. She’s been here since July,” he says. "I found a bar in Portland I liked called The Driftwood Room,” he says. We break into contrasting LA against other cities in the country. The three of us agree LA is a colder place. The conversation moves onto a show about “teens who fuck or are about to fuck or have just finished fucking or talk about fucking.” I’m on my third beer now. I need to get going. It’s dark now.

 

I left the peanut butter and jelly on the counter. I never know if I’m going to have another one or not. Feel strange. Nervous. Had a wee hitty a bitty ago, and early morning, before school, guilty, hitty. Then you spot those “IT’S A GIRL” pencils on the coffee table. For a sec there he saw ‘im turnin’ into John Bayless. I hear the door open. The dog shakes. Her tags clink. Out she comes. Hops on the couch. Licks my face. Now she’s in the kitchen playing thumper on the floor. The trashmen clatter by. It’s time to go already.

To my sub, in the event anything unforeseeable should prevent my presence:

 

Where did you live in years 1-5? Apartments and a house in and around the city of Los Angeles, California. My mother and father had lived in New Jersey and New York until 1967. My mother was pregnant with me when she drove here cross country in a Mustang. They produced a brother and a sister in the five years after I was born. I used to eat macaroni and spaghetti the best. After a while, I refused to eat macaroni (I like it again now, though). I used to run around the house saying, “leedle, leedle, leedle, leedle…” all the time and dance around to “Spinning Wheel” by Blood Sweat and Tears and to the “Flipper” TV theme song. Kenneth Yamamoto, whose family’s backyard adjoined ours from the nest block over, was my first friend. I’m told I had a wooden Playskool that I liked to move around on, and that I was also fond of the Little Johnny Jumper. I liked animals and wore a lot of 70s plaid. Christmas was a big deal around our house, but I remember afterward, the tree on its side on the grass in the front yard, the tinsel twinkling in the sun, the wrenching of the gut, and the area behind the eyes while my parents fought loudly and hatefully inside the house. On the way to preschool at Pat Nixon park, I fell out of the car, holding onto the door handle, and tore the ass out of my new short before my mom could stop the car. I remember a winding slide and a green cardigan sweater I wore that day. Velvet Snoopy painting hung in my room. I think they were from the swap meet or Tijuana. I remember walking with my mom as she pushed an aqua-colored stroller up to the polling place in a neighbor’s garage. My mom liked Nixon. We walked on coffee cans with stirrups in kindergarten. I don’t remember anything before Cerritos. Only from pictures and stories. The burning stuffed mouse, smoldering against the heater. My mom says she was on the phone, and I came out from my nap and was trying to tell her, “Hot, mama, hot. Hot.”

 10-23-00 7:55 PM M

I told my dad that working day and night is easier than drinking every night. And it's true. I thought bars and drunkenness would give me characters and adventures. Getting a good night's sleep didn't seem like it was going to give me a lot of life experience. But if I had saved all the money I spent drinking, I would have been in a better position to travel. Maybe. Whatever. I seemed like I thought of something good to write while I was walking here to night school tonight, but I don't remember what it was anymore. I typed fifteen minutes after I got home from hunting for a rug for the baby's room. It was a baby-room-rug hunt. I read more of Cheever's diaries after that. I envy his introspective insight compared to the litanies of shit that make up my "diaries." I feel like people know what I think even when I don't say anything. My presence puts them on edge. You can sense the garbage in me just by looking at my face. 9:15 PM My class leaves. A few of them shake my hand. I'm not all bad.

10-24-00 Tu 1:09 PM 

The gulag. I need to use the toilet. Whatever. I'm way behind in my writing, and it's not looking good for today. Rochelle's sister and stepmother are going to be over to help with the baby's room. They're going to hang curtains, I hear. Jane is going to spend the night. Game three of the World Series is on at five. I have to be at work at six thirty. I'll bring my radio. 2:00 PM I've got to dig up my credential to present to Ms. Tedeschi. Maybe I can teach adult ed full time and this place can kiss my ass good-bye. I've got to read month ten or eleven of the daddy book. I ate a little pork at breakfast. Rochelle dropped me at the corner store so I could grab a paper. There was nothing in it except maybe a stock tip to buy Lehman Bros. shares. Other than that, it was all just hate and conflict. Rochelle and I are planning to do a dry run up to the delivery room today. Then good old Monique Skelley sent a note over about a grade-level meeting after school today. Why? My methods are sound. My conscious is clear. My IQ and knowledge are top-notch. I motivate like a sports coach. This threatens the mediocre majority. Whatever.

 

10-21-00 10:27 PM Sa

The Yanks just beat the Mets in twelve innings of game one on Vizcaino’s slash single down the line. The GIP, Rochelle, Lulu, and I watched the whole thing. I think Lulu is a met fan. I ate roast pork shoulder and cheese and crackers and mixed nuts and drank beer and margaritas. I woke up around eight this morning and edited some Jim. I finished “Death in Venice.” It was pretty gay. Sort of a modern telling of Plato’s Phaedra/beauty stuff. I couldn’t decide whether Asenbach’s love for Tadzio was a sexual thing or if it was a boy so as to be not sexual. Whatever. He seemed like a dirty old queer pedophile using a lot of ancient musings on beauty to lust after a teenage boy. Maybe, then, Mann’s moral comes in Asenbach’s pestilent death. Is not plague one of God’s angels of vengeance against we sinners? Asenbach relies on Greek mythology to interpret beauty. I wonder what Mann believed. The plague seems like a Biblical end for Asenbach. For all of Asenbach’s love and desire for the boy, Mann’s evocation of Eros suggests homosexuality. Whatever. I typed fifteen minutes about how aggravating things at my school have become. Whatever. I walked the dog down to the corner to get a newspaper. She dropped a load on the way down and another five minutes later on the way back. I scraped paint off the floor in the baby’s room, swept, and placed the rocking chair, toy chest, changing table, crib, and mattress. The mothers came up from OC. I blended some margaritas and put the stroller together. Moms were giddy with tequila and grandmotherly anticipation. They left around two, and I read the paper. The crossword was too much for me today. GIP came over and we drove to the store for beer, dogs nuts and Crackerjack for the game. I’m sleepy. I should read more of that daddy book. We have videos to watch. Rochelle has another shower tomorrow. We’re getting a dresser and I don’t know what else. We need a rug. And curtains. Call Grandma. Call Gil. Third person. Jim. Koran. 15 Bible. Journal.

 

10-19-00 9:22 PM Th

I need to call Grandma, Rawler, and Getoff. I have to get my bike tonight. I should write that letter to United, but I don’t care anymore. I’ve got to figure out what to do about those boarded up windows in the baby’s room. It took a long time to read the newspaper today. It was a teaching-intensive day. Harvard came to spy on me, but I was doing a bang-up job. I typed ten minutes this morning. The sky was mainly dead all day. I walked to school thoughtlessly. Bought the paper. I was a little late but not too late. I had a bagel and cream cheese for breakfast. I bit my lip pretty good. I put some benzocaine on my mouth to numb it. Just like some other numbing -caines I’ve sampled. Big Mac stopped by with a forty-dollar quarter. I couldn’t afford to pass it up. That was last night. At school this morning, we corrected our phonics and went to the music lesson. Then we did a questions and statements lesson about Nelly Bly/Elizabeth Cochrane. I read the sports page at recess. Hohum. Two more days ‘til the Series. We did a chapter review for math. I made some copies at lunch and read more about the Israeli/Palestinian nightmare. The gross oppression is appalling. While I walked the kids to the bus, Anna was wearing a peach cardigan, tan knee-length skirt, and black stockings. [sweating heart] I can look. Harvard said she wanted to see me. When I got to her office, she was busy with another teacher. While I was waiting around, Florelle came by and asked if I wanted a ride, so I went with her. She dropped me off horny. The dog peed euphorically when I opened the door, but she hadn’t shit in the house. I let her out back and she dropped a pile of turds, so I guess the little thing was waiting like a good girl. Rochelle returned from her sisters with a cold.

 10-17-00 9:51 PM Tu

I'm in bed. The presidential debates are on. Obnoxious bullshitters. The Yanks are going to the Series, so everything seems normal. I stayed home from school today because I felt sick. I lay in bed and watched "Rio Bravo" and "Saboteur." Blah blah blah. I took a shower and got dressed in the afternoon. We took my bike up to I. Martin so I could get a new wheel for it. Then we drove to Macys and rode a dozen escalators up to the housewares department and bought a couple of overpriced saucepans because we had a gift certificate. We still have gift certificates for Mervyn's, Crate and Barrel, and Babies R Us. There's still just a little painting to do. We want to get a rug. Whatever. I reheated some London broil, peas, corn, and tater tots for dinner. Went to Back to School Night. Blah blah blah. It was an utterly thoughtless day. A day devoid of observation nor inspiration--like the presidential candidates. [blank ink line drawings of Bush and Gore] The dog is using my ankle as a pillow. She sleeps in the bed with us. My fingers are numb. What else? I read a chapter in the daddy book about baby-proofing the home. I need to get clasps for the cupboards. I are waffles and ice cream after the game. I need some water. I'll read Cheever when I'm done. I have to write a third person page. Read some Vein of Gold.  Work on Jim. Read some Death in Venice. One of the worst books I've ever read, a homo-Lolita, thinly disguised as a meditation on beauty. Whatever. What else? [photo of Ol' Rawler, drinking a can of Budweiser, March 17, 1990, 37th St., Newport Beach.